


routine

by callmearcturus



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Breathplay, Collars, Dom/sub, M/M, hilariously shameless come at me bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Office Pet AU. In which Rhys is on Hyperion’s payroll as Jack’s “secretary.” Well, he <i>does</i> spend his time in the CEO’s office, that much is true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	routine

**Author's Note:**

> Who needs context? Part one of potentially many.

Rhys’ work days follow a certain routine.

In the morning, he wakes in his flat on Helios that he shares with Vaughn. Vaughn’s always up before him and is usually on his exercise bike, going over financial reports on his glasses simultaneously. Luckily Vaughn being an early bird means Rhys wakes up to coffee.

“I am just—Wednesday’s got me really tense, man,” Vaughn says, while Rhys leans on the counter and stares lovingly into his coffee mug. “Last time we did this, Reg got pegged for having messed up the books and Jack just  _spaced_  him.”

“What’s Wednesday?” Rhys asks distractedly as he stares a little less lovingly at his mug as the amount of coffee in it starts to diminish. Life is hard. He thinks Hyperion’s time and resources would be better spent creating never-ending coffee cups. Who needs Eridium when humanity has espresso?

Vaughn peers at Rhys over his glasses. Or, he tries to; they both know Vaughn can’t see shit when he does that and it’s purely for effect. For all Vaughn knows, he could be glaring at a potted plant. “Wednesday is Jack’s meeting with accounting before the orbital laser purchase. How do you… you’re his  _secretary_ , you know that.”

Rhys freezes for just a moment, but recovers easily. “Vaughn, I am not on the clock yet and I’m barely  _awake_ , buddy. Cut me a break.”

Vaughn smiles at that, contrite. “Right, right. Heh, I don’t know how  _you’ve_ managed not to be shoved out an airlock yet.”

Rhys drains the rest of his coffee. “Just lucky, I guess,” he lies with practiced ease.

Later, he walks with Yvette and Vaughn away from the living quarters, into the business areas of Helios, the research labs and weapons testers, the robotics division, and through finances. Here, Vaughn leaves them first, taking a left off the forking path to the accounting floor.

Yvette looks Rhys up and down, and he’s always afraid this is it, that she’ll read it right off his skin. This morning, once again, he lucks out, and she just tells him, “Good luck, and try not to get spaced.”

“Your continued confidence in me,” Rhys says, putting a hand on his chest, “means the world to me.”

Yvette looks out a window, at Pandora floating below them. “I’ve seen the world. It’s not worth that much.”

“Ha ha.” He toodles his fingers at her as she leaves him, walking to acquisitions.

He always waits a moment, watching her go. He misses the days he bought her lunch. Not the actual lunch-buying, of course, Yvette’s the worst leech in that sense, but the actual time together was nice.

Rhys doesn’t get lunch hours anymore. Or, officially he does, but that doesn’t mean much, given his job.

Squaring his shoulders, Rhys continues down the hall to the elevator. There is one specific floor that only about ten people in Helios have access to. There’s no floor number, just a button with an ornate H emblazoned in the center.

Rhys presses it firmly with his thumb, the button lighting up, a ribbon of red light tracing the contours of his skin before the elevator even moves.

The doors open to the CEO’s office, and Rhys steps out, his shoulders slumping just a little now that he’s away from anyone else who could see him. Here, things work a little differently than anywhere else on Helios.

Stepping in, Rhys scans the room quickly for any sign of guests. The lounge area with its black wood and gold plush carpets is empty. The far wall that overlooks Pandora through subtly tinted glass is wide and uninterrupted. The center of the room with its enormous desk and buttery soft chairs is clear too, but for Jack, and he’s not even looked at Rhys yet.

All clear. Rhys nods to himself and steps over to the chrome cabinet just in the entryway. He undoes his tie from his neck and where it clips into his pants, steps out of his shoes, takes off his socks and tucks them inside his shoes. His belt comes off and his pants follow. He hangs them up before taking off his jacket and dress shirt, hanging them up as well. It’s methodical and quick, and soon he’s barefoot in his boxers and a soft black tee, nothing else.

He seals the cabinet with his clothes inside and pads over to the desk. Steps slowing as he gets close, he watching Jack for a moment.

His boss is yelling. That’s not unusual, in Rhys’ experience. He’s just glad Jack is yelling into his ear piece, not at Rhys. He’s loud, though, and Rhys has to avoid flinching as he growls angrily, “We had the fucking deal sealed a  _month_  ago, how did you  _lose it_  and to  _whom_?” His eyes narrow at the wall as he listens. “Uh- uh- uh, y-you better find  _out_  and you better do it now,” Jack says, affecting a mocking stutter before snapping back to his own commanding cadence.

His eyes flick to Rhys, briefly, and he snaps his fingers, the sound like a whip crack in Rhys’ ears, and points to the ground next to his chair. “No, you’re not going to call me back. You are going to get on your other line and you’re going to find out where my damn laser’s gone. I said  _right now_ , not  _in ten minutes_ , not  _after heading to medical wing so they can remove my thumb from up my ass_. Get. To. It.”

Rhys shakes his head in vague sympathy for whoever’s unlucky enough to be on the other end of the line. It’s none of his business, though, and Rhys gets to work, sinking down onto his knees onto the pillow that sits next to Jack’s chair. As soon as he’s settled, Jack spins the chair toward him and cards a hand into his hair. It’s soft for a moment, then Jack’s hand fists, and Rhys shuts his eyes against the sting as his head’s forcibly tipped back, exposing his throat.

“Least someone fucking listens in this place,” Jack mutters as he wraps the collar around Rhys’ neck. Rhys smirks, just a little, and for his trouble gets a hard slap upside the head. “Don’t get cocky.”

Rhys nods, and goes easily when Jack pushes him over, half under the desk. There are more pillows there and Rhys lays down, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

Jack, predictably, barely waits for him to settle before putting his feet on Rhys’ hip. He’s starting the day playing footstool, it seems, and Rhys lays still. It’s an easy start, at least. He can handle this fine. He’d rather start with this than some of the other things Jack would use him for. Once Rhys showed up and was still getting undressed when Jack loudly bragged about having bought an antique cat o’ nine tails he was  _dying_  to try out.

Fun morning, but Rhys preferred a warm up.

Rhys listens as Jack drums his fingers against his desk above Rhys’ head. First, slow, and then with a steadily increasing tempo.

Rhys shuts his eyes, letting his head rest against a pillow, eyes mostly shut as he avoids listening to Jack’s call.

Eventually, Jack shifts his feet. Rhys tries to subtly calm his restless movements, laying an arm over Jack’s shoes. It doesn’t work; Rhys hadn’t expected it to. Instead, Jack toes off his shoes entirely and nudges Rhys onto his back with a heel. Once flat on the floor, Rhys feels Jack tuck his feet up under Rhys’ shirt, pressing against his stomach and shifting around.

Rhys rolls his eyes. Jack’s shouting again at Mr. Soon To Be Spaced, his toes digging down against Rhys’ chest carelessly.

Rhys huffs and when one foot touches his side, the soft skin under his ribs, he tries to grab it, pull it back to his stomach where he isn’t ticklish.

For his trouble, Jack jerks his foot out of Rhys’ grip and plants it against his neck. The arch presses down against Rhys’ throat, and Rhys sucks in a gasp before stopping everything. He feels the threatening pressure, enough that it hurts to swallow as Jack’s foot presses more.

Shutting his eyes again, Rhys goes lax, his arms falling against the floor, his head all the way back, just going pliant. This is familiar too. This is routine, and Rhys knows he’s probably going to be punished later but struggling against Jack will only make his punishment hurt more, leave more lasting marks.

He’s not surprised when the foot against his neck remains for the rest of the call, just parts his lips and takes the deepest breaths that he can. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be allowed to breathe. Jack’s mercurial like that.

And besides, the feeling is comforting in its own way, how Rhys has to work for each inhale, how every exhale is a relief.

Rhys is aware that’s a little fucked, but he works for Handsome Jack. Comes with the territory.

At long last, Jack finishes putting the fear of god into the poor incompetent on the other end of the call. He sags back in his chair, head tipped to look at Rhys under his desk as he pushes down on Rhys’ neck.

He doesn’t mean to, but Rhys grips Jack’s ankle, his breath coming out in a shocked whine. Jack watches with interest. “You still feeling ornery, cupcake? ‘Cause I got more discipline to dole out if you’re gagging for it.”

Rhys can’t speak, not without actually gagging which could be interpreted as a yes to Jack, so he just shakes his head.

Jack smiles. Or, his lips curl up and his teeth peek out from between his lips. It has all the right components of a smile but somehow isn’t. “Good.” He rolls his chair away. “Go get me a drink, we have work to do.”

Scrambling out from under the desk, Rhys rolls to his feet and to the liquor shelf.  _We_  bounces around his head, and with his face safely turned away from Jack, Rhys smiles, doing as he’s told.

 


End file.
